


Put my weapons down to hold you

by KeepGoing



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Feelings, Finally, Grief/Mourning, Grieving, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, mentions of Terry Milkovich - Freeform, mentions of frank gallagher - Freeform, mickey opens up, missing scene 11.8, supportive husbands, things never said
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-23 01:42:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30048006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeepGoing/pseuds/KeepGoing
Summary: Missing scene in 11.8Ian tries to be a supportive husband but is dealing with his own feelings about Frank.So in the end, they support each other.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 15
Kudos: 153





	Put my weapons down to hold you

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, this song "Would you come home" by Tyler Blackburn has been in my head for months now and I have been trying to figure out the best fic to write to that song, and after watching 11.8, I found it in my brain. 
> 
> This is a short one, but in my opinion, it says so much. 
> 
> Enjoy! Comments are love.

**_My father taught me home is where the hurt is  
So, I built a fortress, where I lived alone   
He said ships were never meant to have a harbor   
So, I've worn this armor, I've fought and flown _ **

The scratch of the accordion door that does little to separate your room from the rest of the house echoes like a screech of a needle on a record as it tears you from loop of thoughts that have been playing like the same skipping record for hours now. You can hear the shuffling of the other Gallagher’s downstairs, but it's like hearing the sounds underwater and even your vision is out of focus, but then he is there, standing in the doorway and it's like the flick of a switch and suddenly you’re back on this plane of existence. He looks as bad as you feel, and he gives you the faintest of smiles and it's not enough, but it's enough all the same. 

“Hey.” 

His voice is soft, just like his demeanor and you can tell there are eggshells he’s trying to walk so carefully on but from the look on his face you aren't sure if it's for your sake or his. 

“Hey. What happened at the hospital?” 

He expels a long breathe and sits on the edge of the bed by your legs, unlacing his shoes. “Now’s not the time, Mick.” 

Something happened. A lot happened today. So much in fact, you aren't sure how you are holding it all inside your body. His shoulders are tense, for you and him, and you know there is something he wants to talk about that has nothing to do with Terry, and you’re his husband and you should be rubbing the tension you out of him, but you can’t bring yourself to touch him. 

You waited so long for this moment. This moment of pure freedom. To not have the dark presence of your father looming over you. Not the fear, the responsibility, the guilt, the resentment, the memories and the pain. You waited your whole life for that asshole to be gone, and now that he is... 

In some ways you feel jipped. It should have been you. You should have been the one to make him take his last breath. You earned that right. It should have been you. But then the more you have those thoughts the more you know, no matter how tough the talk is you spew from your mouth or how close you hold a gun to anyone's head, you’re still that same scared little boy you always were when it came to your father. How do you make sense of that? How do you make sense of any of this? 

He looks over his shoulder at you, his expression pained. He’s in pain because he knows you’re in pain. But there’s something different in his eyes. This isn't the same look like the day Terry burned down the Bamboo Lotus. This isn't that sadness in the sea of green you saw when you told him you loved him in front of his entire family but insisted your father needed to die. This isn't your sadness. This is his. Something happened. 

So much has happened today. 

“Where is he?” 

You swallow. “Morgue.” It’s all you can give him right now. 

“And the nun?” 

“Didn’t snitch.” 

“Didn't expect you to.” 

“Then the fuck you asking for then?” 

He sighs, running his hands over his face and stands, throwing off his shirt. “Not sure what to even say here, Mick.” 

“Don't need to be saying nothing.” 

“Doesn't work that way anymore.” 

“Since fucking when?” 

“Since we fucking got married, that’s when. Since we made a commitment. Remember? Thick and thin. Good times and bad. Till death do us part.” 

“Don’t think the death part meant Terry.” 

“Or Frank?” It’s barely a whisper, but you hear him. You’d hear him through a tornado. And if this is anything, it’s a fucking tornado. 

“What?” 

He sighs. “Nothing.” He flops down on the bed beside you in just his boxers. 

“Come on, man.” His elbow is touching yours and he’s usually the one with the soft touches and hands on the shoulders and it's like he’s scared to touch you. Last time something this bad happened with Terry, you beat the shit out of him. Usually, you do when something hits you this hard when it comes to that son of a bitch. 

“Won’t be long for Frank, either.” He steals a glance at you. “Then we’ll have one more thing in common.” 

“That what you found out at the hospital?” 

He nods, spinning his wedding ring on his finger. It’s his tell. When he’s nervous. When his head is spinning faster than normal. When he doesn’t know what to say. When everything is just so loud in his head and it grounds him back to reality. You reach out and grab his fingers. He stills, but his body tenses. 

“Ian.” 

You don’t even know he’s crying until you see a single tear fall down his jutted chin and land on his bare chest. Fuck. You know he’s trying. To be brave. Supportive. Loyal. It’s all you’ve been spewing at him for days now and he’s so tense he’s about to snap and you feel like your own ribs are about to break inside your chest any minute you both are going to spontaneously combust. 

“Doesn't matter. Not my real dad anyway, right?” He sniffles, and blows out a breath. “You’re the one who lost your father. This isn't about me.” 

“Of course, it’s fucking about you, Gallagher. It’s about you too. You think for one fucking second, I don’t know all those pent-up feelings you got about Terry? About the shit he put you through? Just cause we don’t talk about it...fuck, never talked about it, doesn’t mean I don’t know. I know it's why you been fighting with me every chance you got about me taking care of his ass. I see the confusion in your eyes. I see the way you clench your fists whenever you were around him. Like you were just waiting for me to turn my back so you could break his face. Just cause I never said anything, doesn’t mean I don’t fucking know. But, he’s my fucking dad. And I’m a Milkovich.” 

“Family’s, family.” He whispers. 

And then it clicks. Just like the light switch on a wall and everything is bright and suddenly you can’t see again and there is a swooshing in your ears. You both went through your own shit with Terry. You were his son. In the biological sense, you signed up for that shit. But he didn’t. He didn’t sign up to watch you get raped and beaten. He didn’t sign up to have a gun held on him and blood seep into his eyes as he watched. He didn’t sign up for the years of emotionally instability you forced on him just because you couldn’t bear the thought of letting him go. He didn’t sign up for babies and Russian whores and bullets through honeymoon suites and living in fear that any second Terry could strike again. You knew he’d been through it too; you knew the hatred he had and the confusion as to why you were so loyal to someone so evil. You could never explain it to him in a way that would make sense to him. 

But Ian doesn’t see things in gray. You like to think you do, but not when it comes to Terry. All there is is gray when it comes to that fucker. But not for Ian. It’s black and white. And you always knew that, but you didn’t acknowledge it. Not fully. Terry was your cross to bear. But he’s right. You’re married now. Your crosses are his. Your pain is his. And his pain, no matter how much it conflicts with yours, is a part of you too. 

“You’re glad he’s dead.” 

He’s quiet for a long time. So long in fact you have to look at him to make sure he didn’t fall asleep on you or some shit. He’s just staring straight ahead, tears on his lashes. He swallows, once, twice, and grips his fingers tight in yours that are still wrapped around his. 

“Yeah, I’m fucking glad he’s dead, Mick.” 

**_I was raised a soldier  
Put my weapons down to hold you   
Is a kiss an act of war?   
I just tried to keep you warm   
No, you never looked away   
Now I can't look away _ **

“What’s going on with fucking Frank?” 

He sighs heavily and brings his knees up to his chest. “Alcoholic dementia.” 

You rub your bottom lip with your free hand. “Trying to turn the microwave on with the TV remote makes a little more sense now.” 

“Yeah.” He whispers. 

“Sorry, man.” 

“Like I said, doesn’t really matter, right?” 

“Don't start with that shit. Terry was a homophobic, racist, kid beater. Oh, and rapist, let's not forget. And I’m...fuck.” 

“He was your dad.” 

“And so is Frank. Maybe not biologically or some shit, but he’s the only dad you ever knew. Doesn’t make any of this less fucked up. I guess, it could probably make it worse.” 

“Maybe.” 

You both listen as the chaos downstairs dies down and the feet on the stairs as Frannie and Debbie make their way to the bedroom and you both don’t know exactly how much time has passed before you both feel like cement in the bed. 

“Are you going to be okay?” He asks gently. “What can I do?” 

“You’re doing it.” 

“You gonna bury him or?” 

“Tried calling Mandy. Won’t pick up. Colin and Iggy are upstate. Should probably go visit them at some point and let them know. See what the fuck they want to do. But we both know all this is gonna fall on me. As fucking usual.” 

“And what do you wanna do?” 

“He doesn’t deserve anything.” 

“But...” 

“Who the fuck else is gonna do it? And he's my fucking dad.” 

“Right.” 

You shift so you can wrap your arm around him. “Listen, I...” 

“We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to. It’s been a long day; we should just sleep.” 

“No, I gotta say this. Shoulda said this a long time ago.” 

His eyes slide shut, like he’s too tired to even listen. But you gotta say it. 

“Terry was a piece of shit. Horrible father, husband, a total waste of space. He fucking tortured me my entire life. But it's all I knew. Until I met you. For the first time ever, I found something else other than the shit I had in that house. Other than him and my brothers and everything that came with all that. I had something that was mine. And it took me a fucking long time to realize I even wanted it. That I could have it. And I know he put us through hell. I know what he did to us. And I feel fucking shitty every god damn day of my life that I couldn’t protect you. We never fucking talked about it; you know? And I’m sorry for that. But what was I supposed to say? That it was all my fault? That I let the fact that losing you was more important that anything Terry could do to me?” 

“You’re not that same person anymore, Mick.” 

“I know. Because of you. You say how strong I am. How much better I am than him. But it's you. You’re better than that. You’re stronger than I ever was. Because you can see this in black and white. Terry deserved to die. Probably in the exact way he fucking went out. And I... here I am grieving his sorry ass.” 

“That doesn’t make you weak, Mickey. It makes your loyal. And a good son. And it means even though he tried to break you down and make you weak your entire life so he could control you, you still love him. He didn’t break you. He didn’t turn you into him, even though he tried. It’s okay to love your Dad.” 

“And it's okay for you to love yours.” 

Ian squeezes his eyes shut. “He looked so lost, Mick. I should have known. I should have seen it. There have been signs and we all just ignored them. Thought, ‘oh that’s just Frank.’ I should have known. And now...what? We just watch him slowly lose his mind? Wait until he has no idea who any of us are? Put him in a home? Does he even deserve that?” He takes a deep breath. “You know, on the way home all I could think about was you and Terry. And how all this time I could never understand how you could still give a shit. How you could show any kindness to that man. But tonight, after seeing Frank...even after all the shit he’s done to me, done to all of us, it made me wish I was a little kid again. That I could climb up on his lap like I did when I was little. You don’t know how badly I wanted to hug him. And then I got mad all over again. So, I get it. And I’m sorry I gave you so much shit about Terry.” 

You both look at one another, and there is a silent understanding. Nothing else needs to be said. For the first time, maybe ever, you are finally meeting in the middle when it comes to your daddy issues. 

**_Would you meet me in the middle  
Could we both stop keeping score   
There's a battle I must fight alone   
It's you I'm fighting for   
If I call off the battalion   
Break my walls down stone by stone   
Tear down my defenses   
I can build your heart a home_**

“Did you guys decide anything?” 

He shakes his head. “But what are we gonna do? Let him wander the streets? But what the fuck are we gonna do with him here? He’s only going to get worse. The fuck do we do?” 

“Want me to call the Nun back?” 

He smacks you in your stomach and for the first time since you saw that bag wrapped around Terry’s head, you smile. “Not funny.” 

“Too soon?” 

He just shakes his head at you. “So, what now?” 

You reach for your cigarettes on the side table and light two in your mouth, handing one to him. “Now, we get a good night's sleep, we go to work tomorrow and try to figure out what the fuck to do next.” 

“Yeah, okay. C’mere.” He wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you close to his body. “Whatever you decide to do about Terry, I’ll be there.” 

You grunt but lean into his body. “I’ll help with Frank. Make sure he doesn’t wander off and get inside the Ape exhibit at the zoo.” 

He laughs and kisses the side of your head. 

**_I still find my father's shrapnel  
Buried beneath my skin   
But I've begun to heal in all the places your hands have been _ **

It may be the first night in a long time where sex isn't on the table. It’s odd really, because sex is an outlet for the both of you for so many different emotions. But you guess death is both your limits. You both get under the blankets and he folds his body behind you like every other night, and kisses the same spot on your shoulder, like every other night, but somehow tonight feels different. So many things are going to be different now. You want to think they will be better. You want to think, now finally, with Terry gone you can let go of all that shit that’s been weighing you down for years. All that anger and guilt. There isn't the dark cloud of Terry Milkovich in either of your lives now, and there should be a sense of peace. But you know the reign of Terry Milkovich is long but over. You’ll be picking at scars for years to come. You may even find new ones, or maybe Ian will, that you never knew were there before. But that’s the thing, Ian will be there. Ian has his own scars that you’ll need to tend to; from Terry and now from Frank; but that’s marriage and you aren't seventeen anymore. You aren't that scared shitless dirty kid running the streets of the South Side looking for something of your own. Looking for something you didn’t even know you needed. 

Because you found it. You found Ian. And he found you. 

**_Wish I found the words when we were seventeen  
You were the best of me   
You are the best of me_**

“We’re gonna be okay.” 

You push your back against his chest and his arms tighten around you. You feel safe, you always do when you’re with him, but tonight is different. His breath feels different on your neck. His arms feel bigger. Your body feels stronger. You should feel free. Really free. And maybe one day you will. Maybe one day you won't care that your father never loved you. Not entirely. Maybe one day you won't be so angry and won't care and wont seeking approval even when you know you’ll never find it. Just like maybe one day Ian will look in the mirror and not see Monica staring back at him. And when Frank finally dies too, maybe Ian won't feel the loss of something he never really had to begin with. But he will. He will feel his own set of emotions and you will be there, just like Ian is right now, trying to understand. Trying to put yourself in his shoes. 

There is no point for walls anymore. He saw you from day one. 

And that’s the only freedom you really need anyway.


End file.
